Celebrating Misery

I had just commissioned Westy to do me a new banner.

‘Something with balloons and smiling children' was the brief.

‘So, just like last Friday night?’ was his response, in that hilarious ‘see you on the sex register' sense of humour he has.

See, it had been brought to my attention recently that my blog had become more miserable than ever, and coupled with the fact that the Samaritans had offered to sponsor it, I had decided it was maybe time to cheer it up a little. No more stories about the hole in my roof (which is now officially a grade 3 waterfall), my love life (which has caused such a swelling that I’m unable to wear my watch anymore) or my Job (which is now listed as ‘available), I had now planned to write forevermore with a smile on my face.

Well thanks to the good folk at the Daily Irish Mail I have decided to turn that smile upside down once again. In today's news packed edition which contains a vital piece from “Dr” Michael O’Leary, the guy who flies planes to exactly one time zone from where you actually want to go, where he advises ‘stepsils’ as the cure for swine flu, they champion my blog (in their 'if you only do one thing' section) and inform all and sundry that my “disgraceful” posts and hilarious photos on all aspects of Irish life won’t fail to cheer and that “you can be smug in the knowledge of knowing that there is someone more miserable than you”.

Shops all over the country stock this paper, so pop down, pick one up and you’ll be given an exclusive URL which leads directly to this site. If today is now tomorrow, you could root through your neighbours bins, or check doorways where down and outs may be using it as a blanket..

Careful though, I don’t like being disturbed when I’m asleep.

Why do birds suddenly appear?

Fakey delivers his recession sermon in some style on this post, and pretty much says all that needs to be said. I actually watched Prime Times expose on devious border running the other night and had similar thoughts. I’m a ‘no comment kinda guy when it comes to politics, but I’m heavy on the opinion when it comes to dickwads; And those that drive to Newry to pack the SUV with nappies and shitty wine are dickwads of the highest order.

“Well factoring in the price of pet-o-ral, and the fact that we literally have to stuff the boot full of shite we don’t need in order to make a decent saving, I don’t see anything wrong with paying our dues to the Queen - And you never know, the 6 for 2 deal I got on Marmite was a real bargain. The kids are dying to get it in to them”

Fakeys points are on the sterling. Our quality of life is now so high, irregardless of whatever financial meltdown that’s going on, that there isn’t a denim jacket or a heat saving mustache in sight. The boat to Holyhead isn’t filled with songs of dancing at the crossroads or games of stolen tongue tennis over a milk churn like it used to be. Yes, the government don't really have money, but most of us thankfully, still do.

So don’t be afraid to spend it. Locally. But maybe not in Spar.

Anyway, this post came to me as I stood in the Q for the dole the other day and felt slightly ramshackle looking compared to the suited and booted types that joined me. It was my first time doing it in many years, but I came prepared. I simply rang two of my other best friends (Oliver and Westy) and asked them what they brought when they signed on the day before.

As Prince once said “you sexy motherfu...”

Oh actually think it was ‘Sign O’ the Times’